The Sun With Its Earthern Orbit
by Ebony.L
Summary: What hopefully will develop into a small collection of Holmes poems. #9: A Baker Street Bedtime Story-Twelve chimes of the bell/And the silent magic begins.
1. Doylish Clichés

**Doylish Clichés**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: 1. Erm...first post ever? Like I said, English is not my first language and I'm rather new to English poems, so feel free to offer advice (and encouragements XD)!

2. The verses switch between H&W's POVs, starting with W's.

3. I'm considering writing a series of little poems, and I thought I'd start with something light and fun. Sorry if it seems a bit disproportioned, I'm trying to focus on those scenes that happen nearly every time:)

4. Wish you do enjoy, and please R&R!

* * *

During my long and intimate acquaintance with

It always thus begun

The world's foremost consulting detective

Would start the opening round

* * *

The soil on your shoes, the laces it stain

A clearer story is hard to obtain

Now if you'd be so kind as to open the door

A little conundrum is here to entertain

* * *

I believe our client was taken aback

By just how his dissection was profound

Elementary, Holmes's parlour tricks may be

They never fail to astound

* * *

Whatever can be said in front of me

The doctor shall hear it too

Be it a knight, a lord, the King himself

The team consists of two

* * *

He's crawling in mud looking for a brad

I hesitate between laugh and sigh

No doubt our client is more than glad

When at last we bid goodbye

* * *

A three-pipe problem it turns out to be

As I ponder in silent thought

But my Boswell's query cracks a spark

And the pieces click as ought

* * *

Revolver in hand and thrill in mind

I turn to eyes ablaze with excite

As clear to me a message as any word I find:

'Come on, Watson. The Game's afoot!'

* * *

Now, now, my dear Watson

Once again justice ends as winner

Now if we hail a cab and make some haste

We'll still be in time for dinner

* * *

Clichés though these little moments are

They never were anybody's foe

For there shines a true friendship

That graces the years of woe

* * *

P.S. Urgh, the formating nearly killed me...How do you divide the verses without using lines?


	2. For Me There Still Remains…

**For Me There Still Remains…**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: Drug use. Slight angst.**

**Notes: 1. The lines in the usual font are from Holmes's POV, those in italics are from Watson's.**

**2. I tried to create some difference between H&W's language. And to create a feeling of slight disorder. Not sure how that worked out though.**

* * *

The bleakest night to descend, time stops in utter void

With the whirl of mind ceased, the heart drags in unyielding bore

The escape swirls lazily in liquid clear and coy

Knowing far too well, the body forfeits the futile war

—The heave and hurl and mighty roar

Of the tide, the tempest, the extreme

_

* * *

_

_The darkest night to befall, no nightingale would sing_

_Behind your self-made wall, you refuse the care I bring_

_The emptiness scatters in forms of case and bottle and syringe_

_Knowing far too well, the heart clenches in unbearable sting_

—_The plummet and shudder and wretched groan_

_Of the tide, the tempest, the extreme_

* * *

The nerve-ends dancing, sparkling. Numbing

The short-lived euphoria, filling darkness by darkening it more

The crimes, the deceit, the sins of human soul

The black mist in which I harvest or hide—that attract or abhor?

_

* * *

_

_The Icarus touching the heaven, condemning his fall to hell_

_The flame and ice in too fierce a battle, the clinks of their blades ring_

_The solitary, the insipid, the ruins of Paradise Lost_

—_The seven-percent solution that ironically, solves nothing._

* * *

'_Timor mortis conturbat me.' But 'tis not my own demise I fear_

_Would it be? That one day the sun would be shattered, broken, blind_

_That one day the illusory chains would begird_

—And it'll be me I bind

* * *

The thunder roars, yet fades into silence in a cotton haze

There hovers warmth, on the brink of my reach and gaze

For me there still remains…

_There always remain me._

* * *

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	3. Sherlock Holmes

**Sherlock Holmes**

(aka Why you should never bring Holmes's Christmas present home until the last minute.)

* * *

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Notes: 1. H's POV. As for the letters in italics...well, just grind it out through gritted teeth (W's response later) to complete the effect:P**

**2. Yes I know, the rhyming is a bit akward:( But I had such fun writing it and not in the mood to pick them...**

* * *

_S_uch a delicious little mystery, in itself a delightful feat

_H_idden in the closet under layers of cotton and tweed

_E_arth-coloured wrapping, done amateurish but neat

_R_ectangular box that sits snugly in the palm of my hand

_L_ifting it and balancing, a comfortable weigh to take

_O_bject inside possibly something to carry around

_C_links of metal audible as I gently give it a shake

_K_nots tight and secure, in the fashion of a surgeon's hand

_

* * *

_

_H_ints of chains scraping over the board when tipped

_O_ver the tiny clash of polished bronze on glass

_L_ying it flat and slowly turning, ear tightly pressed

_M_ost likely the main piece is round and smooth

_E_ver happened that I said I needed…Aha!

_S_olved!

* * *

**So have you guessed the content yet?:P**

**Poor Watson did take three measures. (Recognise them?) But apparently that's not enough when you're against Sherlock Holmes!**

**Please review~ :)**


	4. Maiwand

**Maiwand**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Notes: 1. Written in honour of the Maiwand Day 130th anniversary.**

**2. I tried to do my research as thorough as possible, but it's admittedly a hasty study, please just tell me if there are any historical errors. Thanks!**

* * *

**The March**

* * *

Merciless, the white spears of July sun

The flow of heat waves already begun

Mouth dry as Helmand River you march

Struggling not to wither and parch

* * *

Without the knowledge of where and when

The battle could begin any there or then

Mutineers and rebels they may be called

The attack is still best when forestalled.

* * *

You know all too well that blood will flow

That both sides will pay, blow for blow

Meaningless hatred that no one tries to comprehend

Wounds even you cannot hope to mend

* * *

Yet here you are.

For Queen and country, for you Berkshire lions

Forward! Forward!

**

* * *

**

**The Battle**

* * *

The world is exploding or maybe just your brain,

You can't decide which and neither do you care.

Cannons blast and fragments rain

—you refuse to think what fragments. You've enough to bear.

* * *

Sharp sting of sulfur, laced with metallic death

You never knew that air could bite, there's pain in every sense

And should you thank or curse every choking breath

With gates of hell the only available defense?

* * *

Dust covers wounds faster than bandages could line

Every valiant struggle like a more desperate cry

No fear lurks their eyes, nor does noble resolve shine.

It's simple as aim and fire. No thoughts. No time.

* * *

Then there's the Ghazis.

Glint of steel through the blinding dust. Swords catching the rays

The land shakes with their fury, echoes their frenzied craze

* * *

You watch as men you know fade into those you knew.

* * *

Brown, with his black teeth and tent-rocking snore

Brown, with his naughty jokes and belly-deep chuckle

Brown, with his intestines visible through the deep slice he bore

—the one slice among many, and no time for a miracle.

Not with the fall of so many, many more.

'_elp me Doc! 'elp…Watson!_

You turn away with a new nightmare, chilled to the core.

**

* * *

**

**The Retreat**

* * *

Indians and Ghazis and confusion and fear

* * *

The line is blasted apart like waves smashed on rocks.

And indeed against the torrent bed you now pack

The dry torrent bed. Gaping. Mocking.

_

* * *

_

_To Khi—_

* * *

The world shifts.

You wonder what was just shouted, or why you are on your back

If only you never have to move again…

_Sir, you're hurt! Sir! Doctor Watson!_

The world jolts from its frozen shock.

* * *

Searing pain

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

* * *

There are others wounded…

_Stop talking, Sir._

* * *

The horse's moving blades dig into your bones

There's gunfire in pursuit. More men will fall.

You are aware of the blood seeping through the second compress

Good of Murray

There are others wounded…

* * *

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

* * *

You look up. The sun snarls.

* * *

**There's so much more I want to say, but...oh well.**

**I tried to make the whole thing just what it was-short and strong for the march, dark for the battle and disordered for the retreat. I hope that did not come out as utter chaos!**


	5. The Most Longsuffering of Women

**The Most Long-suffering of Women**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Notes: 1. I'm going on holiday for around nine days, so here's a quick scribble before I leave. Also, I'll have no access to the internet, so may not be able to reply to your reviews right away. I'll do so as soon as I get home though:)**

**2. This one's in Mrs. Hudson's POV. **

* * *

The most peculiar tenants they may as well be,

They are just like children, if you ask me.

But for me their meals never go by the clock.

Lunch tray in one hand, I raised the other to knock.

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out. Smile—what's that smell?

* * *

'_For God's sake, Holmes! What's that smell?'_

'_Well if it wasn't for you all would've been well!'_

'_So it was my fault that you dropped the beaker?'_

'_Yes if you were the cause for that clatter of poker!'_

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out. Smile that promises nasty dinner.

* * *

'_How long does it take for this nauseating gas to go?'_

'_Too long. Better be prepared for the inevitable blow.'_

'_Any chance of survival if we hide the hole in the rug?'_

'_Worth trying. Let's see—there. Nice and snug.'_

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out. Smile that promises no dinner whatsoever.

* * *

'_May I point out that the chair looks odd that way?'_

'_I suppose you've something better to keep suspicions at bay?'_

'_If only I hadn't used the newspapers to coax the flame.'_

'…_Erm, the one in the furnace or creeping up the drapes?'_

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out. Smi—WHAT?

'MISTER HOLMES! DOCTOR WATSON!'

* * *

**The poor lady, I almost feel bad for what I-_they_ did...**


	6. Elegy for Three

**Elegy for Three**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: Character death. Angst.**

**Notes: 1. Watson's POV, after Mary's death. (I'm so sorry I put you through this dear!)**

**2. I can't believe I brought a sad poem after such a long while...And it's all in a jumble because it was written in different periods of depression over a few days:( My apologies!**

**3. Still, thanks to those who read and/or reviewed! You mean so much to me.**

* * *

Sleep well, said I, Sleep well my dear

Like she so often whispered to me.

Except her slumber shall not be plagued by fear,

Nor would it ever be.

* * *

Whose voice was it trembling in the air,

One that so pathetically shook?

Like a wail stripped naked and bare

An unearthly chill it took.

* * *

Whose wail was it trembling in the air?

Whose hands so pathetically shook?

Whose sorrow stripped naked and bare

An unearthly chill to look—

* * *

Whose tears fell like melted stars

And faded like dew on grass?

* * *

I recognize him, the poor man.

I've seen him two years before.

I recognize him, you poor man.

The heart could bleed no more

* * *

The moon shone—shines all to coldly

On seas without a shore. Which is lonelier

—the world they dwell or mine?

* * *

Would there be shrines and palaces

Where nothing but light decays—

Or did she, did they find that green isle in the sea

Leaving but sorrow for those at bay?

* * *

But I will carry on, for what I promised her and cost him.

I will carry on, and gaze up for them

The sun, the heaven. The heaven oh so blue

All those they see no longer, I shall see for them.

* * *

I shall see for them.

Alone.

* * *

To her I turned when him I lost

To whom shall I turn now, for her?

* * *

My dear, to whom shall I turn now, for thee?

* * *

***Sniffles in Emo Corner***


	7. London Night1

**London Night (Crime)**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Warning: Minor character death. (Or not so minor? This is all about someone getting killed, anyway= =)**

**Notes: 1. I'm sorry I haven't posted for so long! (Starting university) And this one was written in bits and pieces jammed between Lasswell and Kissinger and Norse. I hope it's not too horrible:(**

**2. The theme London Night was prompted by the ever kind mrspencil (don't know how to highlight it, sorry!). It's gave me five or six ideas and this is one of them. I might do the others later:) Thanks Mrs.P!**

**3. This is most certainly NOT my general impression of London or a London night. Your know Holmes, he needs the crime. So no offence intended!**

* * *

Darkness swoops like a vulture

As the sun dies again

Time scurries in its departure

While the bells plead in vain

* * *

The street tilts like a wine glass

Houses slosh and sway

He misses the minute movement

—a mistake with too dearly a pay

_

* * *

__The ghost of a shadow_

_The ghost of a man_

_The ghost of a tomorrow_

_The ghost of an end—_

* * *

The drowsy blink of gas lamps

Are the only eyes to see

As Thames swallows a scream

And all is back to peace

* * *

The beginning and end of sins

Another body under muted waves

Behold the dirge adrift on liquid winds

Above their empty graves—

* * *

He should not have stopped there

He should not have heard

Secrets are dangerous once laid bare

Only death do words deter

* * *

Somewhere a grey dawn is born

And night discards its pawn

The water whispers a silent mourn

And the great grand world goes on

_

* * *

_ And the great grand world goes on

_

* * *

_

_An accident, Holmes?_

_Murder, my dear Watson._

_

* * *

_

***feels a bit awkard***


	8. A Baker Street Xmas Carol

**A Baker Street Christmas Carol**

**

* * *

**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Notes: 1. This is a parody of Rudyard Kipling's _Danny Deever_, and my very first parody. Apologies to RK for turning such a serious poem into...well, this. It's a little cracky and admittedly written in haste, for my finals are coming:(**

**2. The snowman idea came from a word-prompt drabble by KCS, where the irregulars built two snowmen in front of 221B. I don't remember what they looked like though, so this is my own version.**

**3. A great big thanks to mrspencil, who took such trouble to inform me of my PM problem. It's enabled now!**

**4. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!**

* * *

'What are the bells jingling for?' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'To wake the love, to wake the love,' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

'What makes you look so merry, so merry?' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'I share in the world's great joy.' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

For Christmas is coming, your can hear the carols resound,

Trees behind the windows, with ornaments abound;

They've presents beneath them, all painstakingly found,

An' people're opening them in the mornin'.

* * *

'What makes the children smile so bright?' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'It's candy delight, it's candy delight,' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

'What makes that old man laugh aloud?' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'A greeting sincere, a greeting sincere,' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

Christmas is coming, best wishes are passing around,

To warm the hearts of both nameless and renowned;

And not only to those with whom we ourselves surround -

Oh, what delights shall be found in mails in the mornin'!

* * *

'This nonsense won't be affecting me,' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'You're going to enjoy yourself tonight,' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

'I fail to understand this need to fuss,' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'And I don't see the call for pretence,' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

Christmas is coming, you must look it in the face,

'Tis the season of giving – you could bear with better grace,

The day holds excitement no case could replace,

It's the day we wake with kindness in the mornin'.

* * *

'What's that glowing warm and fond?' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'It's old dreams moving beyond,' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

'What's that that twinkles over'ead?' said Snowman-With-A-Pipe.

'It's new hopes rising high an' bright,' The Mustachioed-Snowman said.

For Christmas is here, you can hear the drums play,

The sun's peeking out, an' it's melting us away;

Ho! the only gift I can offer, to die with you today,

Amidst carols and greetings and blessings in the mornin'!


	9. A Baker Street Bedtime Story

**A Baker Street Bedtime Story**

* * *

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Notes: 1. Em, hi, it's me again...? Sorry I haven't been posting, I had a rather busy school year. But I was determined to post *something* this year, so here it is! And please kindly overlook the odd rhyming!fail, it _is _3am here:(**

**2. I wrote this on a whim, inspired by this sentence: 'If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on…' —Sherlock Holmes(Well, Doyle), A Case of Identity. But then it twisted itself into this. I hope it's as interesting to you as it first seemed to me:) The lines in italics are offscreen narratives, the others are from Watson's POV.**

**3. Happy New Year everyone!**

**Warning: An alteration to canon's Reichenbach, and (both real and implied) character death (or 'death').**

* * *

_Twelve chimes of the bell_

_And the silent magic begins_

_London stirs under the spell _

_So did all its kindness and sins_

* * *

Overhead, overnight,

Overwhelmed we glide along

Our hands joined and hearts alight

We are right here to belong

* * *

Houses of words and streets of lines

Cabs of commas and stops

But never could any ink confine

The glimmer of souls that shine

* * *

Yearning, loving, fighting

Courage and greed and lust

A story forever writing-

The London we love and protect

* * *

But now we stare in horror

At the scene that quickly unfold

-Edges of the city disappearing

The place left empty and cold

* * *

Frozen for a second in alarm

I fail to join Holmes in his start

In haste I reach for my firearm

And aim for the villain's heart

* * *

With a scream furious and dark

Wormiarty falls to his death

But he manages a last attack

And Holmes drops toward the depth

* * *

The page strains under his weight

As he grasps the edge and sway

With dread for my friend's fate

I rush to offer my aid-

* * *

_Six chimes of the bell_

_And the covers snap shut_

_Leaving not a single tell_

_Of the tragic it just beheld_

* * *

_One day our heroes would rise_

_Just like they always do_

_But that, my dear readers,_

_Is a story for another night._

* * *

**A rather macabre bedtime story there...**


End file.
